


I know I tend to make it about me, but I will never bore you, baby

by Magepaw



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Bickering, Canon Compliant, Canon Trans Character, Emotional Baggage, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Insecurity, Love Confessions, Multi, Pining, Romantic Comedy, Vague Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:42:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23906365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magepaw/pseuds/Magepaw
Summary: "Welcome back, Sturm," he said as he nuzzled his cheek against hers, and that was when the blunt end of her scabbard struck him squarely in the gut. Wheezing a breathless laugh, Drang took a step back to give her space, crooked grin hanging lopsided on his roguish face."Cold as ever! You wound me with your constant rejection, dearest Sturm! Here I sat, drink in hand, lamenting my earthly woes, wondering if I would ever be graced with your presence again—""It was only a week," Sturm grumbled. "You're giving me a headache."
Relationships: Cain/Reinhardtzar (Granblue Fantasy), Drang/Sturm (Granblue Fantasy)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 32





	I know I tend to make it about me, but I will never bore you, baby

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you just want more story events but you have to make your own food.... but hey look it's not angel angst for once?? there's a happy ending?? only a small reference to death?? ~~op probably just misses writing toumaki~~.
> 
> **UPDATE:** wheeeeezesss, i pulled fire drang and it turns out his whole fate episode is an alternate version of this!! ~~i can't believe granblue plagiarized my fic~~ ~~also CONGRATS REINCAIN even though you made me rewrite the entire middle section gdi~~
> 
> so this is canon compliant with "No Rain, No Rainbow", "Sturm and Drang: A Mercenary's Life", free quests "Valtz Annual Festival" and "Draph Dream Team", as well as main story and fate eps for the characters involved,, but definitely nothing that actually requires reader knowledge as this is just a dumb idea I spent too much time on~ [title song!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJrejf8blAA)

Drang's barstool clattered noisily to the floorboards behind him as he sang her name like a paean.

"Sturm, Sturm, Stuuurm!"

The tavernkeeper scarcely afforded him a glance, familiar by now with the duo's theatrics. Arms flung wide, grinning ear to ear, the lanky Erune bounded eagerly to Sturm before she even made it through the doorway. Ignoring the warning curl of her lip, Drang wound his impossibly long arms around Sturm and dragged her into an unwilling hug. When she did not immediately rebuke him, Drang took the liberty of bending down and nestling his nose into her scruffy pink hair.

"Humph," she grunted, arms rigid at her sides, grudgingly allowing him his brief display of affection.

When he inhaled deeply, she smelled of rusted iron and ash, leather warming in the sun, and the scorched earth in her wake. Just the way he liked it. "Welcome back, Sturm," he said as he nuzzled his cheek against hers, and that was when the blunt end of her scabbard struck him squarely in the gut. Wheezing a breathless laugh, Drang took a step back to give her space, crooked grin hanging lopsided on his roguish face.

"Cold as ever! You wound me with your constant rejection, dearest Sturm! Here I sat, drink in hand, lamenting my earthly woes, wondering if I would ever be graced with your presence again—"

"It was only a week," Sturm grumbled. "You're giving me a headache."

She pulled a stool up at the bar and jerked a nod at the tavernkeeper. He obliged her with a stein of beer, simple and straightforward. It was very Sturmish of her, he mused. Drang righted his stool and clambered back into his seat, long ears perked at full attention. He dug around in his pockets and pouches until he found what he was looking for – a leatherbound journal, a bottle of ink, and a dashing white plume.

"So, so? How was it? How did everything go?" Drang pressed. He waggled his writing quill at her, waiting for her report.

"Finished the mission," she grunted. "No complications."

"Isn't Auguste lovely this time of year? I do hope you made some new friends. Did you go swimming?" Drang grinned. "Please spare no details about the style of your swimsuit, for the sake of historical record. Was it frilly and fashionable, or did you opt for the skyfaring classic: chainmail bikini?"

Wordlessly she tossed him a small pouch of loot, then took a long swig of her drink. Talkative as ever, that Sturm. Still, he wouldn't trade her sulky grimaces for anything.

Drang hummed something tuneless and annoying as his quick fingers counted rupies and made note in their logbook. Another job complete. When he was satisfied, he flipped through the list of requests he'd picked up at the tavern, marking the dates and locations on the calendar so they could plan their travel route.

It was nice not having the empire breathing down their necks anymore. This summer had been good to them – escort missions for beach-bound tourists, merchants needing guards for shipments of goods, and so forth. Easy money, if not particularly exciting. They were free to roam the skies and let the winds of fate carry them where it would. Requests were winding down now that autumn was blowing in, though. Monster extermination had never been his favorite, but Sturm never complained as long as she had something to swing a sword at. Sometimes she would take a few of those quests on solo to spare him the boredom, but he was just as bored when he was left behind to wait for her.

His hand stalled on the calendar, quill tapping the month. Hm. The solstice had snuck up faster than he'd realized. Had it really been a year already? Casually he chanced a sidelong glance at Sturm, gauging her mood. She probably felt more than anyone what the shorter daylight and colder nights brought with them, but who could ever be certain with Sturm. It wasn't like she would ever bring it up of her own free will.

"Say, Sturm… Has Donna given you your invitation yet, perchance…? It's almost _that_ time of the year for the Draph, you know," he grinned cheerfully, batting his eyelashes.

He waited expectantly for the angry point of her dagger to find his ribs, but the stabbing never came. Instead, Sturm was gazing into the dark brew in her cup, looking unusually thoughtful. "Yeah," she mumbled, sounding distracted. "Was thinking… I might actually go to Valtz this time."

Drang gaped.

She shot him a quick glare, brows furrowed, cheeks quickly reddening. "What," she snapped in defense. "Is there something wrong with that?!"

"No, no, no, no, I'm sure we can budget it," Drang sputtered too quickly. He pressed the back of his glove to her forehead, checking for a fever. "It's just-! Are you feeling all right, my dearest Sturm? Did you take any blows to the head during your mission? Were you, perhaps, put under a charm? Surely this is not my beloved partner but a foul replicate, Gespenst, cruel illusion sent from beyond the veil to torment me through- oww, yeowch!"

This time the blade did nip at him, point dulled by the thick gambeson he wore beneath his tunic. He flinched away dramatically, clutching at his sides as if he'd been run through. Sturm did not appear amused. Her eartips had gone pink, mouth pinched into an angry frown, dagger hovering threateningly close to his bobbing throat as he gulped.

"It wasn't a joke. I'm not in the mood to deal with this," she growled, snatching the room key from Drang's belt. "If you've got a problem with me going, don't bother coming at all."

Drang watched Sturm stomp off upstairs in a fine temper, ready to stab anyone unlucky enough to get in her way. He sighed, more out of resignation than concern. It might behoove him to get a separate room tonight, or at least wait until she cooled off before he followed, if he didn't want to end up as a pincushion. He tossed a coin to the tavernkeeper for her drink, and ordered a bowl of wind rabbit stew. Might as well enjoy himself while he killed time.

As he kicked his boots up on the counter and picked at his supper, Drang flipped idly through the journal, eyes skimming the records of their grand escapades but not really reading them anymore. His thoughts were elsewhere, pondering Sturm's curious change of heart.

The Valtz Duchy festival was a tradition dating to the end of the War, celebrating Draph independence. It used to just be a feast that coincided with the harvest, but had grown over time into something larger, marked by contests of strength which countless Draphs embarked on yearly pilgrimages to participate in. Drang had read about such gatherings, and heard plenty of colorful stories – fantastic tales of footraces in the streets, axe throwing and martial arts, contests of eating and drinking, and most famously, a showy form of wrestling that involved the hands being tied behind the back, so that only their horns could be used to tip an opponent out of the ring – but had steered clear of such rowdy festivities himself. There was nothing in it for him, obviously.

And he'd thought Sturm felt the same about large crowds and parties and, well, any kind of fun, really, but if she was actually interested in participating in something not related to work, maybe it would be a good change of pace for her…? Perhaps the mission with the Erste Kingdom rebels had rattled her more than he'd realized, or perhaps Donna was starting to get under Sturm's skin about networking after all, he couldn't be sure. Maybe her siblings would be in attendance.

After all these years, so much about Sturm was still a mystery.

* * *

Drang had poked his head into the Knickknack Shack seeking passage aboard any old airship, but thanks to a spot of luck, he found himself aboard the Grandcypher yet again. The captain had been all too happy to offer him passage to Valtz, since they too were headed that way on an errand for Io, even if Sturm would have some choice words about accepting favors that would need to be repaid later. She had left the tavern without him the night prior – prickly as ever, that Sturm – but Drang knew if she hadn't wanted to be followed, she would never have told him her destination.

Left unsupervised on the spacious airship, Drang wandered belowdecks in search of late night entertainment. He found himself down a winding corridor he didn't recall exploring before, sensitive nose drawn by the scent of lamp oil and garlic butter. His ears twitched, picking up the hum of conversation and music. Drang peeked his head through the only open doorway, keen eyes adjusting to the low lighting.

The subgalley was small, but cozy, and appeared to have been repurposed into some sort of restaurant. Several small groups of skyfarers were seated at tables, drinking, chatting, or listening to the musician idly strumming his harp in the corner. Ah, Herja had mentioned something about this place the last time they chatted, hadn't she? Drang even recognized a few acquaintances from his last stint onboard – Sahli Lao, Milly, and Sutera, tinkering with a disassembled crossbow over their drinks; Bridgette and Cordelia, sharing one parfait with two spoons – but not a certain spectral relative he was trying to remain unnoticed by, so he was safe for now.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Drang sauntered into view, an easy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Drang always kept an ear to the ground for gossip – never knew when the intel he ferreted out might come in handy. Could be a fun diversion.

Behind the counter, the cook's back was turned to him, but her broad silhouette and large horns were unmistakable. Ladiva hummed as she expertly tossed the contents of a skillet with one hand, the other hand gesticulating with a spatula as she conversed with a human in colorful raiment slouching over the counter. Drang never forgot a face, especially one he'd seen across a battlefield: Cain, general of the former Idelva Kingdom. Interesting. His words were too low for Drang to make out, but Ladiva's booming voice projected clearly.

"It's so good to have you all aboard again! How's your big sister?" Ladiva prompted. "She's been taking better care of herself, I hope?"

Drang boldly took his seat right next to Cain, who quickly straightened when he noticed he had company. Wine had tinted his cheeks a healthy pink, but his katana was in plain sight on his belt, one hand resting casually on the hilt as the other toyed with the rim of his glass.

"I'm sure she has her hands full keeping me and Tzar in line," Cain replied breezily. "You know Leo, only happy when she has work to do!"

"Now, now, you promised last time you'd stop taking advantage of her spoiling you. Don't think I've forgotten," Ladiva turned and pursed her lips into a disapproving frown. "Let the poor girl rest. Although maybe seeing the world will do her heart good… You must tell her to come by soon so I can make her favorite sausages. Jamil, order up-!"

Ladiva scooped a generous heap of crispy potatoes onto several plates as she chattered, one of which Cain greedily snatched. Jamil, a serious young man wearing a crisp suit, appeared silently at Ladiva's behest, whisking the dishes off to different tables. Even his footfalls made no noise, something Drang made careful note of. He was not about to let his guard down, even in a neutral zone like the Grandcypher. The captain was too softhearted, ferrying children and the elderly and even stray animals; Drang himself had gotten aboard, after all, so it was no stretch to assume unsavory elements could gain admission with a good enough sob story. 

"Ah, but who do we have we here? Welcome to Raduga, dear," Ladiva leaned her chin into her palm, smiling expectantly at Drang. "I have a mushroom quiche in the oven, if you'd like something hearty to amuse your bouche, and it's open bar, so order up!"

"Ah, have we never been formally introduced? Your reputation in the ring precedes you, Ladiva. Port Breeze, Festival of Falling Flame?"

"Oh, were you aboard the Casino Liner?"

"Nope, definitely not," Drang grinned, bowing theatrically. He accepted his appetizer and an empty glass with a pleased flourish, and helped himself to the bottle of wine that Cain had already started. "Drang, at your service! No job is too big or too small, satisfaction guaranteed! I am but a humble sellsword in comparison to you, though. My, but this dish smells heavenly. I've heard tell of your exploits in the arena, but I never knew you were equally talented in the kitchen!"

Ladiva beamed at his flattery, eyes crinkling as she smiled wider. "Well met, Drang! Oh, all you need to be a good cook are love and good measurements. Then even if it doesn't go as planned, everything still works out in the end! Case in point, this was intended to be a potato galette, but I got carried away sautéing the onions and turned it into more of a _pommes Anna_ … Do pass your compliments to young Syr, who assisted with all the potato peeling tonight. I'm sure he'd be thrilled!"

Drang plastered on a fake smile as he turned to eye Cain, ears flopping comically forward. "Aren't you that clever fellow from Nalhegrande? What brings you all the way to this skydom? Not trouble at home, I hope?"

Cain's smile didn't waver as he waved his hand dismissively. "No, no, quite the opposite – the new republic is faring well enough without my meddling, so I thought I'd do some sightseeing for a change! But humble, surely you jest – one half of the infamous Maelstroms of Discord, in the flesh! I had no idea you were a celebrity when we last met. Are you flying for work or pleasure?"

"Are you angling for a job, or a date?" Drang fluttered his eyelashes, and settled his sharp chin into the palm of his hand. "I'm no longer employed by our golden companion or her family, as I'm sure you know already. And I don't have news pertaining to the whereabouts of a certain ex-sovereign and her furry friend either, so I don't think I have any information to sell you today, sorry to disappoint!"

"Am I that obvious? Leo will be disappointed to hear that," Cain remarked. He took a sip from his drink, sharp eyes never leaving Drang. "I thought it might spare me a lecture if I could bring her back some good tidings from the outside world, but I suppose no news is good news."

"Well you can always bring her my autograph as a souvenir, but it's sadly worthless unless you hunt down Sturm's as well, as we're a package deal. Can't have one without the other," Drang chattered around a messy mouthful of food. He hardly counted himself as a gourmet, but he was an enthusiast of any fare that wasn't dried, smoked, or poisoned. "If you're asking Sturm for a favor, I recommend wearing something armored. Most of her ends are pointy."

"My, but you two boys are birds of a feather," Ladiva chuckled fondly, looking back and forth between them. She bustled around the back counter, slicing the quiche she prepared for the next wave of orders. "Oh, Elta!" Ladiva straightened and called to the harpist in the corner, as though just remembering the late hour. "It's about time you took a break, isn't it? You've been in top form, but it won't do you any good to wear out those fingers playing all night."

Elta squeaked, ears flushing pink. "I, um, that's… Sorry," he stammered, rubbing the back of his neck. "I just-! I want to be absolutely confident in this composition before I teach Lyria the lyrics. I, I don't want to disappoint her with something rushed I have to edit later! B-but I have to give Kou and You enough time to work on their steps, too, so I can't take too long—!"

"Easy, now. Deep breaths. You're worrying too much," Ladiva soothed him. "Have a cup of tea. I brewed one of Morphe's special herbal blends – it's perfect to bring your mind a measure of peace, and help you have sweet dreams."

"N-no, I don't need, oh, um, okay," Elta relented sheepishly, as Jamil flitted over and pressed a steaming mug into his bandaged fingers.

"Looking over your song with fresh eyes in the morning might be exactly what you need!" Ladiva stated firmly. Elta nodded and slumped in his seat to sip his tea, looking far more exhausted than he had a moment earlier. Satisfied, Ladiva added, "I may not have any musical advice to offer you, but I do know a thing or two about overworking yourself, and it never ends well, trust me."

Ladiva had her finger on the pulse of all the comings and goings in the subgalley, and seemed to know everyone by name. He liked to think he was the most observant person in the room, but he had found some interesting company. Still… it was a level of openness he found a little unsettling. Erune had a reputation for being private by nature, but Drang was evasive even by Erune standards.

Drang watched the exchange with faint amusement, and made his escape while Ladiva was distracted. He slipped unnoticed down the corridor to return abovedeck. It was deserted, quieter here away from the chatter of mingling crewmates, giving his senses a break.

Drang leaned against the railing, gazing off into the endless sea of stars that stretched in all directions around the ship, bright like motes of magic against their backdrop of shadow. The air currents were fiercely cold, billowing his cloak like a sail, whipping his mane of hair every which way, jangling his earrings like chimes. His hand slipped into his pouch, soothed by the familiar coolness of his glass spheres against his palm. He spun them between his fingers, round and round, letting his mind wander.

Drang wasn't built for the Grandcypher life where everyone in the crew treated each other as family. Staying in place too long made him uneasy, restless… trapped. How anyone could live their lives willingly cooped up in this wooden tub together for months, even years, was beyond him. He wondered how Sturm was faring out there in the wild, but then again, she'd always done just fine on her own, hadn't she? He was the one who hated silence and always sought company to fill it. What a capricious thing he was.

Without lingering in the cold any longer, Drang stuffed his spheres back into their pouch, and returned to his empty cabin to await the sunrise.

* * *

Drang spent his remaining time onboard drifting here and there and making a general nuisance of himself. With no diversions more entertaining than a spot of airborne monsters, he was starting to go a little stir-crazy. Once Rackam and Noa had to shoo him out of the engine room for the second time in as many days, Drang found his way back at Raduga, heaping compliments on Ladiva so that she'd indulge him with extra snacks. Sated with a savory flatbread pastry Ladiva had called _pizza_ , Drang's long ears swiveled to focus on a familiar voice, blatantly eavesdropping on the nearby conversation he had decidedly not been invited to participate in.

"Ahh, there certainly are perks to civilian life," Cain sighed happily, waving a forkful of buttercream frosting in the air. "I don't miss army rations whatsoever."

"Tell me about it," Reinhardtzar agreed in a low rumble. Drang only knew the Draph by reputation: the fallen soldier turned outlaw king turned war hero. There had been wild rumors of him taking on an entire invading army alone and living to tell the tale – but looking at the mountain of a man in front of him, Drang was inclined to believe them. The cake fork looked like a toothpick in his massive hand.

Ladiva smiled like a proud parent as she pulled out an embroidered dishcloth and set about wiping down the glasses behind the counter. Drang's sharp gaze hadn't missed how low their rice wine had gotten, and how Cain was the only one refilling his cup. Cain was laughing now, cheeks reddened from something other than the drink he was nursing, leaning his full weight against the Draph's side. Reinhardtzar's expression remained stoic, but he was carefully allowing it, one arm bracing Cain from falling off his barstool. So _that's_ how it was, Drang noted.

"Ah, is there anything more exciting than young love," Ladiva chimed in, noticing where his attention was directed. She clasped Drang's hands in her own larger ones, squeezing them in hearty assurance. "The passion! The recklessness! Confessions from the heart, open and pure!"

Drang snorted, freeing his hand to snag another piece of pizza. He wouldn't know anything about romance except what he'd read in novels. "He's certainly a big fellow," he remarked blithely. "I would drop a few rupies if he was wrestling in Valtz. That is, unless he's competing against my Sturm. Then I'm not sure whose hardheadedness would prevail before they both set the island on fire. Oho, lest we forget present company, of course! Ladiva, surely a seasoned veteran like you would be a shoo-in! How could I bet on anyone other than a legendary hall of famer?"

Ladiva chuckled good-naturedly, waving her dishrag at Drang's cheeky grin. "Quite the charmer, aren't you? No, I don't do exhibition matches outside of the Jewel Resort, lest it upset Christy. But competition isn't the main point here – it's love! The winners get tokens which are tied to their horns to show off, as you know. And if a champion gives their token to their admirer, it's said they'll be together forever. Romantic, isn't it? Back in my younger, wilder days, I earned quite a few tokens myself," she winked.

"I don't doubt it, with those biceps of yours," Drang mumbled around a mouthful of cheese. Giving someone any kind of wearable token was an embarrassing tradition in his opinion – Drang wasn't looking to be collared and tagged. It wasn't that he hadn't had opportunities for romance, had he wanted them. But in his line of work, he had to look out for himself first and foremost.

"Ah, no need to be shy here," Ladiva prompted with a kindly smile. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about when it comes to matters of the heart! If you're anything like our friend Cain, talking aloud helps you strategize, doesn't it? Feel free to use me as your sounding board until you're ready to put your plot into action!"

"Nice try, but there is no plot to uncover, no heartstrings to untangle," Drang deflected with false cheer like he always did. A familiar nagging deep in his gut twisted uncomfortably, reminding him that he was tolerated at best, Sturm's business partner and nothing more. Hardly anything that could be considered a matter of the heart. "Things are comfortable as they are, so no need to worry your pretty little head over it!"

"Don't think I haven't noticed how you talk about your Sturm," Ladiva said pointedly.

Drang choked on his crust, erupting into a coughing fit.

Ladiva helpfully patted him on the back and nearly laid him flat. "You should tell her you have feelings for her," she added once he was done wheezing and gulping down water. "Things may be comfortable for you today, but a mercenary never knows what tomorrow may bring."

Drang muttered darkly, "Sturm would sooner skin my hide and wear it as a cloak than talk about feelings, trust me on that."

"Are you certain she's the one holding back?" Ladiva gave him a stern look. "Some conversations you can't wiggle your way out of with smoke and mirrors, Drang. Surely you of all people know you should always let your loved ones know how much they mean to you."

"…While you still have the chance," Cain added.

Drang's ears twitched as he turned to see Reinhardtzar scooping a tipsy Cain into his arms like he was weightless. Cain giggled into his sleeves and waved at them – maybe he was a few drinks too deep to have a witty follow-up, but he seemed to be having a good time nonetheless. Reinhardtzar rolled his eye, exasperated but fond.

"'Use your words like a big boy,'" Cain mimicked in falsetto. "That's what Leo would tell you, Drang. Listen to Leo."

"Maybe _you_ should listen to Leo for a change," Reinhardtzar muttered under his breath. "I think you've had enough for one night."

"Yes, enjoy your hangover tomorrow," Drang retorted, baring his teeth in what passed for an aggressive smile. "I'll see you in Valtz soon, yes? Good luck to you, General. Here's hoping your man gives you a shiny token of his undying love, or at the very least, takes his shirt off so you can enjoy the show!"

Reinhardtzar shot him a dirty look on their way out the door, but Cain could be heard cackling all the way down the hallway.

"And with that, I'd best be catching up on my beauty sleep as well," Drang announced, stretching his arms high over his head and wincing at the stiffness in his back. "Thanks for the meal, and for all the unsolicited relationship advice!"

"Drang, just listen," Ladiva chided as Drang quickly stood. Her arms were crossed over her firm chest, gaze steady and unyielding. "You can't run away from your feelings forever. Is that any way to live your life?"

Drang's vapid smile faltered. For a moment, he was back on a certain windy bluff overlooking a tranquil sea of clouds, the humble stone marker, the flower he'd planted for her, the promise he'd failed to deliver on. But he shook it off, ears tilting carelessly askew. Ladiva might be a dangerous combination of empathic and sharp as a tack, but she didn't know his life, not the way Sturm did. And after staring down the business end of Sturm's blade all those years ago, Drang wasn't in the habit of letting strangers stick their noses into his business, accurate or not.

"Absolutely! I've had years of practice," Drang quipped, waving his hand in cheery dismissal. He flourished a bow and exited Raduga, calling over his shoulder, "Mayhaps our paths will cross again! Ta-ta!"

* * *

Desert air blew in hot and dry through the windows, autumn sunset bringing little relief from the oppressive heat that smoldered below the earth. Within the safety of the citadel's grand walls, throngs of visitors choked the streets, waiting for the Archduke to appear for the customary opening ceremony. The raucous din in the alley below faded somewhat when Drang retreated to the upstairs level of the inn, though his keen ears were still under assault. His sweat-soaked tunic was already clinging uncomfortably to his skin, though he was equally loath to strip down to less layers of protection. He was not built for Valtz's climate, but he was stubbornly here all the same.

He knew this inn was one of the businesses with a contract with the mercenary guild, and with a dash of charm and some sleight of hand, it wasn't hard to get a peek at their reservations ledger. But even though he knew where to find Sturm, instead of barging in with his usual flair for the dramatic, Drang hovered anxiously in the hallway, ears strained for any sounds of activity. The rhythmic scrape of whetstone against steel confirmed his hunch.

Drang chewed his lower lip, trying to organize his thoughts. He felt foolish and insecure and even more foolish for his insecurity. This was Sturm he was talking about. She would never care about that sappy nonsense. Sturm would do whatever she wanted to regardless of his opinions about it. Always had, always would. But his stint aboard the Grandcypher had gotten under his skin, just a little. They didn't play fair, those softhearted types.

_While you still have the chance._

"I can hear you dithering around out there," Sturm said flatly through the door. "Either come inside or get lost."

"Yes ma'am," Drang sang out, snapping upright. Ah, it was fine if Sturm yelled at him for being overly sentimental – any attention was better than being ignored, wasn't it? That thought cheered him somewhat, and he brushed some sand from his tunic in an attempt to look presentable. "I missed you too, dear Sturm, but despite your best efforts we're reunited at last! So please don't stab me!"

She hadn't locked it, which meant she'd been waiting for him. The rooms were small, but decently furnished for one occupant. He found Sturm seated cross-legged on the mattress, swords spread out around her as she sharpened the one on her lap. Perhaps less of a good sign, although admittedly Sturm was at her calmest with steel in her hands. He flashed a hopeful smile, but she didn't look up.

"Any other stupid jokes you want to get out of the way first?" she muttered. Her shoulders were hunched up tense, small hands stilling on her sword.

"No, no, I assure you, I'm being fully serious! Look at how serious my face is, Sturm," he said, pointing to his exaggerated frown with his ears flopped down for emphasis.

She glanced up and huffed in amusement, which he took as a sign to continue.

"Of course I'm fine with you going on a little vacation. You need to lighten up," Drang cheered, perching on the edge of the mattress. She eyed his reflection in the blade, clearly measuring the distance between them. "I didn't follow you to pester you, I swear! I was just surprised to see you interested! I didn't think this sort of thing was your style. Maybe it's part of getting older and wiser and leaving your youthful days behi– ah ah ah, watch the tip, that's sharp," he sputtered, twisting to avoid the sword prodding at his ribs.

"You're overthinking it," she grumbled. "Like usual."

She tossed the sword carelessly out of her reach, which for Sturm was a gesture of goodwill. Drang straightened, ears pricked upright as he focused on her. She had always dressed simple and functional, no frills or frivolity. Her hair was hacked short for convenience with little regard for style. She had never cared for her own appearance, nor that of others. And Drang supposed Sturm had her share of admirers, male and female alike, but she'd never shown the slightest interest in any of them, or even seemed to notice their attention.

It was easier to flirt with a brick wall, and probably more rewarding, too. He knew how this would end. His stomach lurched like he was jumping off the bluff into the endless blue below.

"You're probably right, of course! What is it, then? What made you change your mind and suddenly want to party this year, of all years? Family in town? A rare sword on sale, perhaps?" Drang laughed, the strained sound too high-pitched to be casual. The guild sent that festival invitation every year, but Drang had never once seen Sturm actually open the envelope, let alone consider going. It was just supposed to be a joyous occasion for the Draph, whether they intended to actually take part in courtship or simply wanted to enjoy the celebration. It really wasn't any of his business either way.

Sturm had never shown much interest in _him_ , either. Drang gulped.

"Because if it's companionship you're after, you know, you can always ask… me?"

Sturm turned her head to one side, muttering something a little too low for Drang to hear. He swallowed audibly, as his ears twitched.

"Did you say…"

"I said, it's about _beer_ ," Sturm announced defiantly, pink creeping into her round cheeks. "Human taverns always water everything down for weak human constitutions. It's piss water and I'm sick of it. Draph beer is the strongest in the skies, and everyone always brings their best to the festivals. Donna's letter… she gave me a tip that a master brewer would be attending the Valtz festival under a false name. She knew I wouldn't be able to resist, damn her."

For a moment Drang simply stared. Sturm looked at him unflinchingly, a mulish frown tugging at the lines of her countenance. Then Drang dissolved into braying laughter, obnoxious and relieved.

"Of course… of course! Classic Sturm," he wheezed, rising from the bed and wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. "I should have guessed! It's about beer! I'm such an idiot for getting jealous of _beer_. Forget I said anything at all! Have a lovely time at the drinking contest, and win a token for me! Erm – not that the _token_ is for me, haha, wouldn't that be silly, I just meant win a _match_ for me, since I can't exactly compete myself unless I magicked myself some horns, and wouldn't that be a ridiculous sight? Bet I couldn't even hold my head up before toppling over from the weight! Anyway, bye!"

He turned on his heel to beat a quick retreat to the door. He suddenly felt much too warm in the stifling room, sweat trickling down the back of his neck. Sturm squinted at his back as she tried to determine whether he was teasing her.

"Wait," she finally snapped.

He froze in place. Sturm's glare bored a hole in the back of his skull.

"Why are you acting so strange," she demanded. "Are you drunk?"

"Not at all, my dear! Beer isn't to my tastes, and nary a drop has passed my lips," Drang backpedaled, wiping clammy palms on his trousers. The quieter Sturm was, the more he couldn't seem to stop babbling. Drang had always been unnerved by silence. He hovered awkwardly by the door, surreptitiously reaching for the handle. "It's nothing, nothing at all, it just clears something up for me! Thank the skies, too, I was starting to think this was about tokens and partners and biological clocks and Reinhardtzar going topless – he's quite a big boy, isn't he? But no need to fret, dear Sturm, I have it on good authority that he prefers the company of men! Not that it's wholly relevant anymore, since like you said, this is only about beer and absolutely nothing else!"

Sturm was staring at him like he'd grown another head.

"Did you think I was going on a date…?"

Sturm's voice trailed off, cheeks reddening in realization. Her mouth worked on empty air for a moment as she replayed the conversation, before it snapped shut entirely, twisting mouth unsure whether to look angry or mortified.

"Just kidding…?" Drang tried, flashing his winningest smile.

She settled on angry.

"That's it? That's it. You really _are_ an idiot," Sturm seethed through gritted teeth. Drang fumbled with the door handle as she lunged at him, grabbing him by the ears and dragging him back by the roots. "You absolute moron!"

"Aiieeee! Those are sensitive, use your words, Sturm! Your words!" he screeched.

Drang made a show of flailing dramatically as she threw him down on the bed, fiercely strong despite their difference in height. The one-sided scuffle was brief. In an instant Sturm was seated atop his chest, hands pinning his wrists above his head, and Drang made no attempts to resist her hold. His long ears fell back in easy submission, letting her win.

"After all these years, that's the best you could come up with? Pathetic."

"Better, but we have to—wait, what?" Drang panted. Despite his bravado, his heart rattled around in his chest like it was about to fly up out of his mouth and leave the rest of him to perish. Bickering was one thing, and even tussling wasn't unusual for them, but he suddenly felt like this was dangerous new ground, and he was afraid to move and ruin it. He hoped she couldn't feel him trembling underneath her.

"That was it," Sturm said abruptly. "When you said companionship. That was your pitiful attempt at asking me out, wasn't it? Because you got jealous over nothing."

"No," Drang lied. He shook his head in vehement denial, earrings jangling. "That doesn't sound like me. Nope, nope, forget I said anything at all!"

Sturm's lip curled in contempt. Drang squirmed underneath her glare, feeling uncomfortably exposed. He knew Sturm didn't need him, not the way he needed her. His heavy heart pounded more insistently, loud enough that she could surely hear it. They were just business partners, and nothing more, so what did a silly misunderstanding matter? It shouldn't.

It shouldn't, but it did.

"What are you not saying now," Sturm sighed, looking absolutely done with him. "Spit it out."

"I've never actually…" Drang squeaked.

Drang's charisma had earned him his share of admirers, had even been invited personally by clients, but had turned them down, every last one. Some called him a tease for it, always the flirt but never taking it further – but truth be told, Drang had never been with anyone at all. They weren't Sturm.

"Stuuuurm," he whined, eyes screwed shut in embarrassment. Honesty was far too difficult. It was always safer to dance a few steps out of reach than to be caught and held like this, waiting helplessly to be torn apart. "Pretty please, can you go back to stabbing me? I rescind my earlier protest. It turns out words are worse, actually!"

With his eyes screwed shut, Drang waited for the sword that would surely slip between his ribs and end this farce of a life. But to his shock, Sturm simply looked amused, and leaned back to settle her lean weight on his chest.

"We're halfway there already," she shrugged, like it made little difference to her either way. "I was starting to think you'd never ask. Coward."

"Sturm, don't tease me like this," Drang whined. He was, of course, still on his back, with her straddling his midsection. He didn't think it was possible to blush any harder than he already was, but he had reached a new low. He tried to free his wrists to cover his face, but Sturm wouldn't budge. He was trapped.

"I don't joke," Sturm deadpanned. "But you do. You flirt with everyone. You're incapable of being serious. You're such an ass."

"Sure, sure, guilty of all charges," Drang spluttered, wincing at the assessment. It was nothing he hadn't heard before, but the sting went deeper this time. "This is new for me too! I thought things were fine the way they were, but, then you, I just got nervous that you suddenly wanted to, you know, get _serious_ with someone, and I panicked, all right? Like you were replacing me, and – this is torture, you know! Cruel and unusual punishment! Just kick me out or stab me already, I don't need to hear your reasons, I already know, I'm sorry I messed things up, so let's just go back to the way—"

"Shut up."

Drang's mouth snapped shut obediently.

"You're annoying. And loud. And you're always a headache to work with," Sturm stated matter-of-factly.

Drang squirmed against her firm hold, but her powerful grip tightened, making the fine bones of his wrist creak in protest. When he finally he made hesitant eye contact, he found Sturm gazing far too calmly down at him. Gods, he shouldn't be enjoying being manhandled and talked down to by Sturm as much as he did. And yet, he was still too cowed to speak, and could only wait for his verdict.

"But. If you're serious about this. About… me. You can come with me to the festival. As a… date," Sturm offered haltingly, letting her grip go slack and settling on his lap, allowing him to sit upright. She glanced aside from him, face reddening, and added under her breath, "I guess. Since you want a token so badly."

"…Really? Really and truly?! _Stuuuuurm!_ "

With his arms freed, Drang swept her into a huge hug, crushing her small body against his chest. Drang's eyes were wobbly with tears of relief, and he snuffled loudly into her shoulder, drowning himself in the scent of iron and leather and smoldering embers threatening to consume him. He had never been more terrified of losing her.

"Disgusting," Sturm muttered darkly, staring up at the ceiling in defeat. "I regret this already. I'm breaking up with you."

"Nope, no take-backs!" Drang cheered. "Not allowed! The Maelstroms of Discord are embarking on a new path of partnership, one bringing them closer than ever! Bards across the skies will compose songs about the winds of fate that blew us together, my roguish good looks and your mean little hands, always reaching for implements to stab me with—"

"Get out of my room."

"Sturm, Sturm, Sturm! Does this mean I get to kiss you? Can I, can I? I've never been kissed before—"

"Only if it will make you shut up," she blustered.

Drang cut off into a squeak as Sturm's hand found his chin and forced him still. She pressed their lips together aggressively: teeth clacking against teeth, horn bruising his temple, noses bumping awkwardly at her too-fast approach. It was more of an assault than a romantic gesture, and yet, Drang had never felt more giddy. Just as quickly, she pulled back, her blush a deeper red than Drang had ever seen it before.

Drang blinked rapidly, a goofy smile plastered from ear to ear. Sturm was so adorable when she was embarrassed, and oh, how had he ever convinced himself that he was fine being just friends? Mentally he apologized to Ladiva, and promised to bring her some flowers next time he was aboard the airship. Sturm started to crawl away from him to preserve her dignity, but his long arms snaked out and gathered her to him again, nuzzling happily against her heated cheeks. It was Sturm's turn to squirm, trying halfheartedly to shove him away, but he only squeezed her tighter.

"Sturm kissed me…! Sturm, Sturm, was that your first kiss too? Am I your first kiss?" he babbled happily, burying his nose in her hair. He could feel her nervous heartbeat fluttering against his own, the heat radiating from her face, the rise and fall of her breathing, and he never wanted to let go.

"You have three seconds before I stab you."

"Sturm, you didn't answer me! Does that mean I'm right?"

"-Two. One."

"Really? I'm your first, too? Sturm, I love y—eeeooow! Ow ow oww, okay, okay, I get the message! Too soon! We'll just take it nice and slow, enjoy the festival as lov—ow ow, okay!! You're so very pointy, do you know that? Okay, okay, I'm going to go get my own room! Good night, sweet dreams, see you tomorrow for our date~!"

The door slammed shut only a moment before the sword impaled the wood, inches from Drang's still-grinning face. Things had just gotten interesting.

**Author's Note:**

> [hehe](https://i.imgur.com/BldI1oU.png)


End file.
